True North
by Ridley C. James
Summary: Sam and Dean find something much more important than the perfect gift when they search for a present for John on Father's Day.
1. Chapter 1

True North

By: Ridley

Disclaimer: Nothing relating to Supernatural belongs to me.

Rating: T

A/N: This is a Father's Day story. I owe Tidia a big thanks for helping me work up a plot, seeing as how I desperately wanted to do a sort of companion piece to my Mother's Day fic. It was only fair. Fathers are important, too. Unfortunately, the plot seemed to get lost along the way, and this turned out more like one of Sam's visions. Scattered and painful until I could get it all out. It demanded I just let it run its course. Hopefully, you'll get something out of this rambling.

_There must always be a struggle between a father and son, while one aims at power and the other at independence. -Samuel Johnson _

_Cedar Springs, NC June 1998_

Sam Winchester hated hospitals. In fact, he couldn't think of any place that he hated more, well except for maybe really creepy graveyards. But even those seemed to smell better. And then of course there wasn't people at the graveyards enforcing stupid rules that made no sense either. For instance, Sam could visit a cemetery any old time he felt like it, and if he wanted to spend the night there, then he could do that too.

Of course, hospitals did have their good points. For one, people were usually alive if they were in a hospital, compared to the alternative found in most graveyards. And Sam was completely and totally thankful that he was visiting his brother in the current establishment instead of the other. Because a few nights ago, it could have gone either way.

As it was, Dean had been in ICU for twenty-four hours and then in his current room of F350 for the last two days, where Sam had spent all his time after school, until one of the staff would finally kick him out-sending him to the cafeteria or back to the waiting room until his father would eventually show up to collect him.

"He's doing much better today," Maria , one of the nicer nurses broke Sam from his brooding, as she approached the teen from the opposite direction. "Even requested a sponge bath with Kelly."

Sam hinted at a grin. "And he said he'd never go near water again."

"Don't you worry, I guarantee you if there was a girl anywhere in the vicinity that brother of yours would dive right in." She patted the fifteen year-old on the shoulder as she strolled by with a stack of charts in her hand. Maria paused, one hand on her hip. "And guess what, I think the doctor is going to let him go home tomorrow."

A full smile blossomed, revealing dimples and a flash of white teeth that Maria had been fishing for. "That's great. Does he know yet?"

"No, sir," she shook her head. "I thought I'd give you the honors."

"Thanks," he said and picked up his pace.

"And, Sam?" Maria called, causing the boy to skid to a stop and face her once more.

"I wouldn't let Nurse Collins catch you sneaking that fast food in here, or she'll have your hide." She laughed, when the boy's face took on a completely innocent expression. "Don't' even try it, son. I can smell Mickey D's fries from a mile a way-especially when I'm on a diet. And I'm always on a diet."

The teen merely shrugged. "I promised him."

"Unh-huh, just so you promise to bring me some the next time, I'll let this little broken rule slide."

Sam nodded. "Sure thing."

"Dude? Where have you been?" Dean asked as soon as Sam made it through the door.

"School." Sam arched a brow, tossing his backpack on a chair near his brother's bed. "Ring a bell, or did you really go too long with out oxygen. The doctor was concerned about brain damage, you know."

"Cute, smart ass," Dean replied, glancing from his kid brother to the backpack. "So…"

Sam leaned against the rails of the bed in a bored fashion. "So…what'd you do today?"

Dean snorted. "Did you bring me food or not?"

Sam grinned. "No conversation, no small talk…just straight to the goods. No wonder you don't ever have any second dates."

"At least I _have_ dates."

Sam walked over to his bag and pulled out the coveted meal. He tossed his brother the white paper sac, which Dean caught with his left, considering his right one was in a cast nearly to his elbow. "Double Quarter Pounder with Cheese and a large fry-super-sized, just the way you like it."

Dean lifted the bag to his face and inhaled, a euphoric smile crossing his bruised features. "Have I told you lately how much I love you, Sammy?"

"Spare me. I'm not going to fall for your cheap, sappy lines."

His older brother grinned at him and tore into the burger. "So, how was school, _dear_?" He asked around a mouthful of the ambrosia.

Sam hooked one of his long legs around the chair and drug it closer to Dean's bed, before collapsing into it. He chose to ignore the sarcastic tone of the question and reply. "Finished two of my finals. I'm just glad it's almost over."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Who are you and what have you done with my geeky little brother?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Hey, I like summer break as much as the next guy."

"Speaking of summer," Dean shoved some fries in his mouth. "Do you know what Sunday is?"

The younger teen shrugged, knowing exactly what the day was.

"Father's Day." Dean looked at him expectantly.

"And?" Sam picked up the remote to the T.V. and started clicking through channels, even though he had no interest whatsoever in what was playing.

"And we need to get Dad something."

Sam met his brother's gaze, slightly dumbfounded at the suggestion. "You're kidding, right?"

"No," Dean took another bite of his sandwich, relishing in the artery-clogging grease that one would have thought he'd been denied for at least a year, instead of the three days that he'd been in Stranton Memorial. "I told you to save some money."

"I did save some money, but I'm not spending it on Dad." _Not now. _

"Why not?" Dean paused from inhaling more fries. "Are you pissed at Dad?"

Sam stared at him, incredulously. Pissed wasn't exactly the word. He hadn't spoken to their father since the accident that had nearly gotten Dean killed. If the fifteen-year-old closed his eyes he could still see Dean fall from the cliff into the icy cold water below them, hear his own screams as he watched his brother go under and not resurface. "I don't want to talk about Dad."

"Come on, Sammy," Dean growled, putting the burger down, his appetite suddenly waning. "This wasn't his fault. Hunting is a dangerous gig, you know that."

"I know how dangerous it is," Sam snapped. "I researched this particular gig. Remember?"

"Is that what's got your shorts in a bunch? The fact that Dad didn't listen to you?"

"I told him that water spirits were different-especially ones found in cold, still or slow moving water. They can hold and absorb etheric patterns. They have more energy." The teen's brows knitted closer together. "Water has a complex and unsettling effect on the dead." He looked pointedly at Dean. "And they almost always seek company-drawing others to their death by freak accidents-like yours."

Dean sighed. "Sam, Dad knew all that. You told us both about a hundred times, although I'm still not sure of the whole etheric patterns stuff you were babbling on about." When Sam opened his mouth to explain, Dean cut him off with a raise of his hand. "And I don't want to know. Okay? I get it, water spirits are bad. Believe me. I understand. That bitch convinced me."

Sam leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest and sighed. This last brush with death had scared his brother almost as much as it had scared Sam. Dean would never admit it, but Sam knew his brother better than anyone and he'd seen it when the other boy had woken up in the ambulance. Dean had broken every rule of his self-enforced no Chick-flick moments by clinging to Sam like he was a life preserver. It wasn't the first time he'd scene that look on his brother's face. But he'd never want to see it again. "I just don't understand how you can forgive him so quickly. He nearly got you killed. You weren't breathing, Dean! You were blue." _We almost lost you. _

Dean bit his lip to keep from snapping back. He had discovered a whole new, amazing reserve of patience within himself as Sam had started his struggle through adolescence. And he also knew how shaken up his brother had been by his brush with death. Caleb had recounted the harrowing rescue that saved his life in gory detail-like only Caleb could.

He even described how Sam had fought with the men who were trying to hold him back as the paramedics worked on him, and the fight between Sam and his father after John made it to the hospital. "Sammy, look, I know the whole drowning thing wasn't easy on either of us, okay. But I'm fine. No lasting effects." He proclaimed, waving his broken arm towards his bruised face. "You all saved me in time and this work of art will mend in not time."

"Caleb and I saved you. Dad was off saying that stupid binding spell-which is probably what pissed the spirit off in the first place. You can't bind a water spirit! He didn't even get there until after the ambulance had taken you away."

Dean shoved his uninjured hand through his hair. "Dad screwed up. It happens. Just let it go, man."

Sam sat up straighter. "Could you have let it go so easily if it had been the other way around?" Sam demanded, knowing he was delivering a low blow. "What if I had drown?"

When Dean's face paled, Sam leaned back in the chair and lowered his voice. "Look, Dad's screw ups aren't the little kind I can just let go, Dean. It's one thing to miss a parent teacher meeting or a soccer game, or to forget to bring milk or bread home. But he treats your life-our lives-like they're just as inconsequential."

Dean frowned. "Inconsequential?" he forced a grin. "Dude, you've got to take that dictionary out of the bathroom."

"I'm being serious, Dean." Sam hated it when Dean turned everything into a joke.

"Yeah, and you're seriously beginning to get on my nerves." Dean wadded up the wrapper and what was left of his burger and tossed it in the trash.

"It's not just your accident either, Dean. Really-what has Dad done for us that we should dote on him about."

"He's kept us alive for one!" Dean snapped. "How can you even ask that, Sammy? He's given us a home. Took care of us."

"A home?" Sam felt all the old hurts surge to the surface as he tried to wrap his mind around the idea of _home. _"Motels and rat-infested apartments are not what I consider a home, Dean."

The older boy shook his head. "That's not what I was talking about, and you know it." Dean glared at him. "Just forget it. If you don't want to get Dad something then I'll just get it myself."

"And how do you plan on doing that?" Sam raised a brow. "You're stuck in the hospital."

Dean looked around the room and then glanced at the phone by the bed. "Then I'll just have Caleb do it."

Sam snorted. "Do you honestly think he'd do that? Kill something for you- yes. Take a bullet for you-maybe. But shop? I don't think so."

"Damn it, Sam." Dean shook his head slightly. "This is important."

"Why? Why is it important, Dean? It's not like Dad is going to remember what Sunday is. He barely remembers Christmas or our birthdays. And the dates he does remember, I'd just as soon he forget."

They both new what Sam was talking about. Their mother's birthday, their parent's wedding anniversary, the day his wife died. Those days- their dad recalled just fine. And he was unbearable.

When they were younger, Dean had always found ways to make sure he and his little brother were out of sight, and as far away from the man as possible. Since they were older, John would usually disappear on his own, leaving Dean in charge, and that suited Sam just fine.

"He's still our Dad," Dean said forcefully, and Sam threw his hands in the air. He could not believe he was having this conversation with his brother.

But then the nineteen-year-old's voice softened, and took on a faintly familiar edge. "Look, Sammy. Mom always made a big deal of it, all right." He admitted finally, averting his eyes to somewhere over Sam's shoulder. "It was important to her. She'd make Dad's favorite breakfast. We'd all eat it in bed, and then she'd make this big presentation of the gift." His brother shrugged. "At least that's how I remember it. It made her happy."

And it all suddenly made sense to Sam. And despite the fact he didn't think his father deserved one damn thing, he knew he'd now search to the ends of the Earth to find whatever it was that his brother wanted to get. Because Dean deserved so much more than he ever got. "So what do you have in mind?"

Dean looked up. "You'll do it?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "I guess I fell for your cheap, sappy line after all."

His brother laughed. "Don't feel bad, Samantha. I'll still respect you in the morning."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The old cow bell tied to the screen door of _Merle's Misplaced Merchandise _clanged loudly in the silence of the late afternoon lull. The proprietress and namesake Merle Malone looked up from her tattered copy of The Thorn Birds to observe who was disturbing her late lunch/early dinner which consisted of a lukewarm can of Diet Rite and a rather crusty egg salad sandwich.

It was a boy, maybe fourteen or fifteen if Merle had to guess and she eyed him warily for a moment as not many teenagers wondered into her quaint little shop unless they were looking for classic albums-which she had none of, or they were hunting for trouble-which she wanted none of.

"Can I help you?" She finally called rather brusquely, when the boy merely skulked in the doorway, looking rather lost and a little more than unsure of himself.

When he lifted his eyes to meet hers the first thought that rushed into her head was that she needed to point his cute little hinny in the direction of Pete's Barber Shop. But she bit her lip, reminding herself that kids these days liked that long style and besides it wasn't any of her damn business.

At least his hair was a nice, deep shade of chestnut brown, and not some outlandish pink or blue nonsense. It looked clean, too. Not greasy or slicked back or stuck straight up like he'd jabbed his finger in a light socket. As he got closer, and Merle removed her reading glasses, letting them dangle from their beaded chain, she found herself thinking the style sort of suited him. "I'm Merleen, Merle for short," She told him, as he stopped on the other side of her counter. "I own the joint."

"Sam," He said, casting a furtive glance to the shelves behind her. "I was just hoping to look around."

Merle waved her arm in a grand gesture. "Knock yourself out. But I can tell you now that I don't have any music of any kind, and I don't bother with prosecuting shoplifters. I just take them out back and feed them to Holiday here."

The kid looked down at the floor where she was motioning and then glanced back up at her with eyes that she couldn't help but to notice were the color of the molasses she liked to pour on her biscuits on Sunday mornings. Those eyes seemed to ask if she was serious as they once again went back to the semi-comatose heap of fur at her feet, and Merle harrumphed. "Underneath all that beats the heart of a lion. So don't test my resolve, kid."

Sam nodded. "Okay."

He stepped around the resting Retriever, and made his way towards the back of the tiny shop. To Merle's surprise a thump, thump, thump of a tail hitting the hardwood floor heralded his wake and had her sighing into her can of soda. "I suppose that is your way of telling my I should go help the boy."

The dog whined and stretched out further, his tail continuing it's staccato tapping. Merle put her drink down and eased her robust bottom from her favorite diner stool, giving Holiday a snort of disgust. "Some partner you are."

She found Sam looking through the numerous books stacked neatly on the wooden shelves she'd built herself. "So, are you looking for something in particular? Or just browsing?"

Merle eased alongside the boy, taken aback by just how tall and gangly he was now that her rather squat and round self was standing next to him. A smile suddenly sprang to her mouth as she imagined that they might look somewhat like a giraffe and rhino roaming the Serengeti. Of course, she always did have an over active imagination.

"I was looking for something for my Dad." His reply brought her out of her internal dialogue with herself and she nodded.

"That makes sense. I'd almost forgot that Sunday was the big Dad day. Sears and Home Depot pretty much kill my business for that particular holiday. Now Mother's Day-that's a different story."

"You have a lot of nice things." He said, gazing around from the books to the perfume bottles and unusual vases and such, before motioning to the books once more. "Some of these are original first publications."

Merle arched an eyebrow. "You're a scholarly one, aren't ya?"

He grinned then, revealing a dimple that would have been just perfect for poking-that was if she'd been the grandmotherly type and prone to do such things. "I like to read."

"That's good, most kids your age just go around with those blasted boom boxes strapped to their shoulders. A person could get mighty rich if they could shrink those things to pocket size and wire them straight into the brain."

Sam laughed. "Yeah, I guess."

"Is your Daddy a bookworm, too?"

His smile fell, disappeared like a groundhog scampering into it's hole at the first sign of its shadow. "Not for pleasure."

"I see," Merle put her hands on her hips and looked around. "Well I hate to tell you but I don't have any power tools or lawn rakes, or barbecuing utensils, not even a box of nails. But there may be a hammer around here that once belonged to Theodore Roosevelt himself."

"I wasn't looking for anything like that. My dad's not really…well he just isn't your typical kind of father."

The slight hint of contempt might have been imagined, but the brooding look of disapproval that stormed through those dark eyes was not. "I see," Merle said with another nod of her head. "He a business man? Work a lot?"

"Something like that." Sam looked down at the floor as he spoke and Merle had a good hunch there was an interesting story behind that statement.

"Well, I do have some unique desk things that I got from an estate sale. Stuff like paperweights and pen and pencil holders-even a letter opener.Got a couple of ties, too- one belonged to Nixon- I think."

The boy shook his head. "He travels a lot for business. Not really an office-type of guy. And I've never seen him in a tie."

"Okay," Merle sighed. "How about you tell me a little about the things you two do together and then maybe we can go from there."

The boy looked at her like she'd just asked him to stand on his head and juggle some knives with his feet. "Things we do together?"

"Well-yeah. You know…father and son type stuff. Are you sports fans? Because I have some signed baseball playbills from the forties with the Babe's signature."

Sam shook his head. "My Dad's never taken me to a ballgame."

"You've never been to a ballgame?" Merle shook her head and clucked disapprovingly. "That's un-American."

"Oh, I've been to a game," Sam rushed to explain, a hint of smile finding its way back on his face. "My brother Dean took me to a Red Sox game once. They were playing the Yankees."

"Sweet," Merle whistled, and then looked around her shop again. "Well, what about fishing? Lots of boys and their dads like to take to the rivers around here? Best catfish East of the Mississippi. Why my own daddy taught me how to tie the most-irresistible fly around. Fish see it, and practically jump right up in your basket. I have some of those for sale."

Sam shook his head again. "Dad's not much of a fisherman."

"But you've been fishing, right?" Merle asked.

He nodded. "My brother use to take me a lot when we were kids."

"I see. How about hunting? You don't really look like a Bambi killer but, then again, I'm not the best judge of character. Just ask my four ex-husbands."

The boy swallowed hard and seemed to pale a bit. "My father hunts, but he's got just about every piece of equipment he could need."

"That's good, because I don't sale guns or knives or any of that stuff, Sam. Although I do have a hat supposedly worn by Davy Crockett. He was from around these parts you know."

When the teen only shook his head, Merle rubbed her chin. "How about games? I have an antique chess set and a card deck that was used back in the Wild West."

"No, Dad doesn't play games-at least not for fun."

"You're not a lot of help here, Sam."

"Sorry. My dad and I haven't gotten along for the last few years. I'm not usually in to the whole Father's Day thing."

"Ah, puberty," Merle sighed, remembering her own discomforts with her father when the horrible hormones had swarmed down upon her. "Just be glad you didn't get boobs."

"Excuse me," Sam stuttered.

"I said-then what put you in the mood." Merle waved her hand in the air, when Sam didn't seem to get it. She spoke slowly. "Then what's so different **this** year?"

"My brother asked me to do it. He thinks it's important."

"Your brother, huh?" Merle watched the boy's face tense up, bringing a pained look that shouldn't have been present on someone so young. "Why isn't _he _here, if he's the one who thinks it's such a big deal?"

"He's in the hospital, just around the corner." Sam shifted from one foot to the other. "I told him I'd come look for something."

Merle wondered if the kid's brother had cancer or something-maybe even drawing his last breath as they spoke-that overactive imagination in full swing again. "I guess he didn't have anything in mind either?" She knew she was grasping at straws, when the boy shrugged with his whole body.

"Just something Dad would like."

"Well, you've told me your Dad doesn't really care for sports, or fishing, or reading, or games. Do you happen to know what he _does_ like, besides hunting that is?"

Sam's frown deepened. "He was in the Marines. He liked that because he got to yell and boss people around a lot. And my Mom. He loved her." Another shrug. "And Jimmy Buffet, but you said you didn't have any music."

Merle felt her heart clinch slightly and she was almost afraid she was having another heart attack, because she hadn't really let herself feel empathy towards another person in a long time and it kind of took her by surprise. But the sudden open and vulnerable look in Sam's eyes, sort of jolted her out of her stupor. "Parrot Head _and_ a Jar Head, huh? That's an odd combination. How about a soap on a rope. I have one in the shape of an anchor."

The kid shrugged again. "Maybe I'll just look somewhere else."

"Now don't go rushing off," Merle held up a hand to stop him. "I might not be the all mighty Sam Walton- but I've never sent a customary away unhappy."

"And besides, your brother's right. Father's Day is important, and dads deserve some respect for all they do."

When the boy frowned again as if she were speaking in some foreign tongue, she continued. "Well, you know what I'm talking about. Dads teach their sons to catch a football, and throw a baseball, ride a bike. They talk to them about girls and teach them all that scratching and spitting stuff." Merle sighed. "Who the hell taught you to tie a necktie? Or how to shave?" She waved her hands in front of Sam's face. "Were you raised by wolves, kid?"

Sam finally smiled. "No, but my Dad didn't do all those things. My brother did."

Merle put her hands on her hips. "Then maybe you should be buying this sickly Dean a gift, instead of your old man."

"Maybe."

Merle had a sudden idea and motioned for the kid to follow her back over to the counter, where her abandoned sandwich should have been, but was not. Holiday was also conveniently missing "Damn dog," she muttered unlocking the back and pushing the hinged doors to either side.

Sam came up beside her and leaned his elbows on the top of the glass case peering down at the contents inside. "I just remembered that some old guy brought this in a few months back, pawned it for enough cash for a beer and some smokes and never picked it back up."

Merle found what she was looking for and stood back up, holding her hand out so that Sam could see the shiny silver lighter laying against her palm. "Vietnam vet," Merle told him. "Lost his leg and everything." She nodded to the lighter. "Semper Fi engraved right on the side. That's the Marine motto-isn't it."

Sam nodded, picking the lighter up and turning it over in his hands.

"Your Dad smoke?"

Sam looked at the store owner. "No. But he's been known to burn things from time to time."

Merle raised a brow, but decided to let the comment on the tip of her tongue slide on back down to the fiery pit it came from. "Then maybe that's the thing for him."

His dark eyes held her gaze for a moment, and then he nodded again. "Dean will like it."

She didn't miss the fact that the boy said nothing about whether the intended recipient would agree or not. "Well then. Another satisfied customer served. Be sure to tell your friends."

Merle bent down to close the doors, but a hand on her arm stopped her. "What's that?"

The teen pointed to a bronze circular item tossed on the bottom shelf, and Merle knew exactly what it was without picking it up. "Ah, one of my favorites." She picked up the compass and handed it to Sam. "I'm not sure how old it is, and I don't even know if it works to tell you the truth , but I've always liked the inscription" Merle opened the compass, and read the swirling writing. "True North- So you always know where you are, and where home is." She smiled up at Sam. "A little sappy, but nice."

Sam took the compass from her, and turned it over in his hands much like he'd done the lighter. "You can't actually find True North with a compass, you know."

Merle shrugged. "You don't say?"

The teen glanced up at her. "No, a compass works with the magnetic field of the Earth, which isn't exactly where the North Pole is. Pilots and Captains use to have to adjust their course for the difference, depending on where they were located at the time because Magnetic North fluctuates. If you follow a compass based on it, you'll get lost."

"Well, Mr. Scholarly, I'm guessing whoever wrote that, probably meant it more figuratively. Home isn't always a co-ordinate on a map, you know."

Sam looked up at her sharply, and Merle shrugged. "I get a little sappy from time to time. Especially after reading the Thorn Birds."

When the boy glanced back to thebrass compass, Merle cleared her throat. "So, what's it going to be, kid. The compass or the lighter?"

Seeing the struggle register across the handsome features, Merle leaned on the counter next to Sam. " You know, I was just thinking that not all fathers are cut out to be dads, Sam."

"What do you mean?"

"You're a smart kid. I think you know what I mean. A _Dad_ does all those things we were talking about. All those little things that we remember as we get older. All those things that bring us comfort and help us muddle through the kind of person we're going to be when we grow up."

"Then there is a _Father_-who protects and supports a family. Maybe only financially. He might seem cold and distant at times, harsh even, but he has a function, too. They both are important. In a perfect world, you get the combination all rolled into one Bill Cosby. In a not so perfect world you may get one or the other-hell, some people don't get neither. But it kind of sounds like to me that you got both-just in different packages. And you can honor them in different ways."

Sam ran his teeth over his bottom lip, glancing out the door, before looking back to Merle. "How much for both?"

Merle snorted. "Kid, it just so happens that I'm running a Father's Day Special. Buy one present, get one free." She slapped Sam on the shoulder. "Let's see good old Wal-mart beat that."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"You did good, Sammy." Dean held the lighter up. "The importance of a fire is one of the first things Dad taught us about survival. He'll like it."

"Was that when he was teaching us how to light a human corpse on fire, I can't quite recall."

Dean snorted. "So, you found it at that shop on the corner. The one with all the old clothes hanging in the windows?"

"Yeah, Merleen said it belonged to a real Vietnam Vet," Sam told the other teen, as he sat on the corner of his bed.

"Merleen?" Dean raised a brow. "You meet a girl while you were gone and not tell me, Sammy?"

Sam rolled his eyes. He wasn't about to tell Dean that the _girl _was old enough to be their grandmother, and reminded him a whole lot of a female version of Pastor Jim, without the good manners. "Maybe."

"Would I have thought she was hot?"

"Probably. But she was in to smart guys."

It was Dean's turn to roll his eyes. "Was she blind and did she have a good sense of humor, too? 'Cause that would make her the perfect girl for you, little brother."

Sam chose to ignore the comment, instead nudging his brother over so he could actually recline on the bed and stretch his long legs out. "So, did the doctor come around yet?" He asked with a wide yawn. He'd never admit it, but he hadn't slept very much in the nights that Dean had been away.

Dean put the lighter on the table by the bed and rested back, his good arm behind his head, and his cast-encased one across his chest. "Not yet, but you said yesterday that Maria told you I was getting sprung today. Right?"

Sam glanced up at the clock. It was almost two. "That's what she said."

Dean noticed his brother look up. "What time did Dad say he'd be here when he dropped you off this morning?"

The fifteen-year-old shrugged. "Around five."

Dean snatched the remote from his brother's hand. "Then catch up on your beauty rest, cupcake. I'll wake you up before then."

Sam started to refuse, as his brother shot him a smirk and began flipping channels, but the complete sense of safety that had blanketed him since returning to his brother's room, was quickly lulling him to sleep.

As he heard his brother laugh and make some rude comment about whatever he'd opted to watch, Sam sighed and felt at home for the first time since the accident. His eyes drifted open and he cut his gaze to Dean, before letting them slide shut again, knowing he was safe to let his guard down. Merle was right. Home was definitely not a set of co-ordinates.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"What do you mean you're leaving?" Sam demanded, motioning to the bathroom where his brother had just disappeared. "Dean just got out of the hospital. The doctor said he needed someone to keep an eye on him-to watch his breathing." The fifteen-year-old could not believe that their father was going on another hunt, in a different town. He'd been late picking them up at the hospital, and now after being home all of ten minutes, he'd up and announced that he was leaving.

"And that's the only reason I'm leaving you here with him-other wise you'd be going with me."

_Like hell, I would. _"I don't have a drivers license. What if he needs to go back to the hospital?"

"Call Caleb. He's hunting not too far from here. Or Jim." John continued to stuff things in his bag. "Or even better, 9-1-1."

Sam couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Why do you have to go this weekend?" He bravely reached out and caught his dad's arm, making the man stop long enough to look at him. "Won't this wait?"

"No," John snapped, but then softened his voice. "I have a lead on something that sounds like it might be connected to the thing that took your mom, Sammy. I can't take a chance on missing it."

At least Sam could now understand the distraction but what about all the other things the man was missing. Sam finally let him go, fighting with his own emotions. "Tomorrow's Father's Day," he said brokenly, in a last ditch effort. "Dean has plans."

"What?" John looked at him like he'd grown another head.

Before Sam could answer his brother chose to reappear, a towel tossed over his bare shoulders, a plastic bag held in his good hand. "One of you want to do the honors?"

Sam looked at his father, who'd already gone back to packing. "Never mind," He muttered to his back, taking the bag from Dean and gently sliding it over his brother's cast, twisting it before looping the ends into a snug knot.

The nineteen-year-old glanced from his brother to the oldest Winchester, who was currently stuffing things in his duffel. "What's going on?" He asked Sam. "You all right?"

"Dad's leaving." Sam told him, not able to bare the look of concern that had flickered through his brother's green gaze.

"Now?"

"I have a lead in Memphis," John answered, before Sam could. "It's important, Ace."

"Right," Dean nodded, but Sam didn't miss the pinched lines of weariness that formed around his eyes. "We can be ready in ten."

"No," John held up his hand. "The doctor said you needed to lay low for a few days. Sam is going to stay here with you. I left enough money on the table to see you all through until I get back."

"But you'll need someone to watch your back." Dean looked at Sam, not real thrilled with the idea of his brother going without him, but less enthused about their father going out alone. "Sammy can go."

"No," Sam shook his head. "I'm staying here."

Dean opened his mouth to disagree, but John cut him off. "I make the decisions around here. You both are staying. Got it?"

Twin nods. "Yes, sir."

John grabbed his bag, and padded his shirt pocket. "Where'd I put the damn keys?"

"Table," Sam said simply, suddenly eager for the man to leave, before things could get any worse.

The older hunter nodded and started past them, when Dean stopped him. "Dad…uh, Sam and I got you something."

_Great. _Things were about to get worse. Sam watched his brother reach into his jeans pocket with his uninjured hand and withdraw the silver lighter that Merle had helped him pick out.

Dean tossed it to their father, and John caught it, barely glancing at it before dropping it in his own pocket. "Thanks, boys, but you could have bought a whole hell of a lot of Bics for what you paid for that thing."

And he was gone.

Sam's mind quickly tried to rationalize his father's actions even as his heart cried out in disbelief. The man was possibly on the trail of the thing that killed their mother. He was in a hurry. It was getting late. Finally he looked at his brother and faced the cold, bitter, truth. John Winchester could, at times, be a blind bastard.

"Dean," He attempted, not missing the rush of emotion that stormed across his brother's face before the older teen could effectively throw up his protective shields.

Dean lifted his arm, holding out his hand as if to keep Sam from moving too close. "I'm going to hit the shower. Why don't you find us something to eat."

Sam stayed where he was, obeying his brother's silent request for space. Maybe he did it for Dean, maybe he did it because he just didn't know what else to do. "Eggs okay?"

His brother nodded, and then forced a smile. "Just remember I like mine over easy, and you can leave out the shells this time, Sammy Crocker."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I'll see what I can do."

And with that Dean was gone, and Sam sauntered into the kitchen flipping lights on in the small apartment as he went, trying to bring some warmth back after the cold breeze that was his father had stormed through. He opened the refrigerator and stared at the meager contents, hearing the shower kick on and the small radio that they kept in the bathroom start playing something loud and angry.

Sam leaned his head against the cool surface of the freezer and sighed. It was going to be a very long night.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

_Dean was walking along the peek of Panther's Creek trail, carefully avoiding jagged rocks and jutting saplings that had struggled to survive their limestone surroundings. _

_He could hear the soft gurgling of the water better than fifty feet below him, feel the heat of the late afternoon Southern sun baking his shoulders. _

_Sam and Caleb were several yards ahead of him, pieces of their conversation about water spirits floating back to him on the humid breeze. _

_He stopped for a moment, running the back of his arm over his sweating brow before any more of the salty perspiration could leak into his eyes. It was dangerous to have blurry vision at this altitude, especially when he was standing so close to the edge. _

_Dean glanced over the cliff, wondering at what exactly possessed a kid to willingly throw themselves from this height into the tiny splotch of blue water below. He didn't care how cool or invigorating it was. Why the hell they didn't just step their feet in the old fashioned way, he'd never know. _

_Apparently this place, Panther's Creek Falls, was a favorite spot for summer time fun. _

_Despite the accidents and recent death of yet another high school senior, other teens still came. Still climbed out onto the rocky cliffs to find their adrenaline-packed high as they plummeted to the mountain fed stream below. _

_Dean shook his head with a slight shiver, as the ground seemed too eager to rush up to greet him. He would take the thrill of hunting any day-his dislike of heights mixing uncomfortably with his aversion for water. _

_He could almost hear his father's voice telling him that fear of anything was a weakness-especially fear of something as innocuous as H2O. _

"_Go ahead. Jump in, Ace."_

_Dean jerked around, to find his father standing in the middle of the path, separating him from Sam and Caleb. "Dad? What the hell are you doing here?" _

_John Winchester was suppose to be nearly fifteen miles away saying a binding spell to keep Kendall Humphreys bound to the earth that held her body, and her spirit away from the water that had claimed her life two years prior._

_The older man didn't answer the question. He merely pointed at his son. "Do it, son. The only way to overcome a fear is to face it. Winchesters don't have time to be afraid."_

_Dean faltered. "But…I don't like the water."_

"_I don't care what you like, Dean." John's face hardened. "Do what I tell you to, no questions asked. Questions cause trouble."_

_Dean glanced down to the water again, his heart doing a triple take, as it skipped against his chest. "No. I'm not doing it."_

"_Yes. You are."_

_Dean's eyes widened as suddenly his father was standing beside Sam, who seemed oblivious to his presence, continuing to talk with Caleb. _

"_No!" Dean seemed to know what was going to happen, even before his father's hands shot out, shoving the younger boy off the cliff, plummeting towards the water below. _

"_You just need the right motivation, son."_

_The nineteen-year-old watched helplessly as Sam's arms wind milled, finding no perch, no leverage. Dean's mind screamed at him to move, for Caleb to react, for Sam to suddenly grow wings and fly far, far away from this horrific scene. _

_But none of those things happened. Sam shouted his brother's name before landing in the water with a splash. _

_Dean recovered the use of his body, spinning, falling to his knees so that he could see over the ledge to where his brother had landed. _

_The water was still, not even ripples breached the inky blue surface. Then she was there, bursting from beneath the glass-like prison, her eyes meeting Deans, even as she smiled triumphantly. "I'm not alone anymore," She whispered the same words that Dean had heard when he had been submerged in the icywater, when he'd felt himself falling into the emptiness. He'd known he was going to die at that moment, and that meant one thing…Sammy was dead._

"No!" Dean screamed. "Sam. NO!" He shot up in his bed, gasping as he braced himself with his injured arm in a rush to break free of the nightmare.

"Dean?" The light between the two beds in the small room was switched on, casting the only occupants in a faint wash of yellow. "Are you okay?" Sam struggled to untangle himself from the blankets.

His older brother held up his hand, but this time Sam ignored the silent command to stay back and he shifted so that he was sitting on the edge of Dean's bed, his concerned gaze never leaving the older teen. "Dean?"

Dean was struggling to get his breathing under control, back to normal despite the bruising on his chest from the CPR compressions and his still weak lungs.

He coughed, deep and wet, before he could stop himself and Sam reached out to steady him. "Hey?" His little brother's hand tightened on his shoulder. "Is it your breathing?"

"Dean?" He asked again and the urgent fear in his voice along with the residual feelings from watching his brother go over the edge of that cliff was almost too much for Dean.

The older teen forced his eyes open and took a deep breath although it hurt like hell. "I'm…okay. Give me a minute, Sammy."

"Should I call somebody?"

"No." Dean shook his head and met his brother's concerned gaze. "Nightmare." That one word should have summed it up for Sam, who had always had his share of battles with the dream demons.

Sam simply nodded, not relinquishing his hold or offering to move back to his own bed.  
"What was it about?"

Dean looked at him. "That damn Cindy Crawford again. She has a nasty S&M fetish."

The fifteen-year-old let his hand slide from his brother's shoulder, for once relieved that Dean was feeling well enough to joke. "You want to talk about it?"

Dean shook his head. "A gentleman never talks, Sammy."

"I'm serious."

"No. I'm good."

"Sure you are," Sam sighed, reaching up a hand to check his brother's flushed face for a fever.

"Dude," Dean leaned back out of reach. "Personal space here."

"The doctor said to watch out for fever."

"Trust me, I'm hot…but not _that_ kind of hot."

"You're a jerk is what you are," Sam said with an exasperated sigh. It was too late to be going a round with his brother. "Just…you'd tell me if you were sick…right?"

That hint of fear was back, so Dean shoved aside the quick come back and nodded. "I'm fine, Sam. Really…go back to sleep."

The younger hunter watched him for a moment, running his usual visual scan to see if he could detect any dishonesty in his brother's features. "All right." Sam stood and made his way back to his own bed. "Good night, Dean."

Dean waited for the other boy to turn the light off before easing himself back to the mattress, wincing as his sore body protested. He'd just reached the mattress, when Sam's voice called his name again.

"Yeah?" He said into the darkness.

"I'm sorry…about Dad."

Dean closed his eyes, hoping desperately not to see his father's face. "Me too, Sammy. Me too."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Dean didn't know how long it had taken him to get back to sleep after the nightmare, but he still felt tired and sluggish when he finally forced his eyes open and was greeted by the glaring sun spilling through the partially pulled blinds of his bedroom window.

He rubbed his eyes, peering over at Sam's bed-slightly unsettled that his little brother wasn't there. Even though Sam was a restless sleeper, he usually had to be dragged out of bed, especially on the weekends.

Images of his nightmare flooded back to him and if he hadn't had the ache in his broken arm and the tightness in his bruised chest to remind him that it was indeed him that had fallen from the cliff, he might have panicked.

As it was a quick sense of relief washed over him when he heard footfalls in the hall and the door to their bedroom opened to reveal the object of his concern.

His remission was quickly replaced by confusion as he noticed the tray his brother was carrying. The smell of food filled the room and his stomach rumbled even as his mind tried to figure out why in the hell his little brother was serving him breakfast in bed.

"Hey, you're awake," Sam said with a dopey little brother grin that Dean hadn't seen in a while, before sitting the plates down on the nightstand. "I'll be back," He added, turning and leaving the room again.

Dean pushed himself up, resting against the headboard and glancing over to where two plates of pancakes adorned with whip cream and garnished with what looked like honest to God chocolate sprinkles sat surrounded by piles of bacon and sausage links. He blinked his eyes again and Sam was back, two glasses of orange juice in his hand and a bottle of syrup tucked under his arm.

He handed one orange juice to his brother, sat the other down, and picked up one of the plates of pancakes, before sitting the T.V. tray across his brother's lap. "Breakfast is served."

"What the hell is this, Sammy?" Dean looked down at the spread before him, sitting the juice down on the tray beside of his plate.

The teen sat down on the bed, crossing his legs and propping his own plate on one knee. "What's it look like? It's your favorite breakfast. Chocolate chip pancakes."

Dean raised a brow. "You cooked this?"

Sam grinned. "No. IHOP did. Dad's treat."

Dean remembered the money their father had left them and didn't want to know how his little brother had gotten clear across town and back all before, Dean glanced at the clock, nine o'clock in the morning. "Why?"

Sam shrugged, "It's Father's Day, remember?"

Dean looked at the food again, and then to his little brother. "Dad's not here."

Another shrug and Sam stuffed a fork-full of the syrup and cream covered cakes into his mouth as he simultaneously reached over to the nightstand and withdrew something from its one drawer. "Here," he mumbled around the food, handing the newspaper wrapped gift to his brother. "I got you something."

Dean's frown deepened as he took the package. "Why?"

Sam rolled his eyes dramatically, biting in to a piece of bacon. "Father's Day," he said as if he had explained everything a hundred times over and Dean was still completely clueless.

"I'm not Dad, Sammy."

"Thank God," Sam muttered, around a sausage link this time. "His favorite breakfast is catfish and runny eggs." The fifteen year-old made a face.

Dean shook his head, at the weirdness of it all, staring at the gift for a moment, before finally unwrapping it. When he tore the last of the paper away, a shiny brass object fell into the palm of his injured hand, and he carefully closed his fingers around it. "What's this?"

Sam looked at him. "A compass."

Dean's brows drew together as he took the gift in his other hand, using his thumb to flip up the facing. "It's engraved," Sam told him, pointing his fork towards the fancy writing swirling across the inside.

"True North," Dean read the inscription. "So you always know where you are, and where home is."

When Dean looked at him again, Sam put his fork down and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. "I saw it at that pawn shop, and started thinking about what you said about Dad providing us a home."

Dean's brow furrowed. "So you got this for him?"

Sam quickly shook his head. "No. I got it for you. Dad may pay the rent Dean, but he's never provided me with a home." In Sam's mind the man was like Magnetic North-always fluctuating-unpredictable- likely to shift at any moment.

Dean looked a little confused and started to open his mouth but Sam rushed on before he could deny the words that they both knew were true. "You gave me a home, Dean. And a lot more." The fifteen-year-old bit his lip before continuing. "I know how important all this family stuff was to Mom…and how important it is to you."

"Sam…" Dean tried again, shaking his head slightly.

"It is. And I know that your favorite breakfast in bed and a present doesn't begin to cover all the stuff you've done for me, but I just want you to know I appreciate it. You're always there for me, and I don't always get why you think the family stuff is so important-especially the way you feel about Dad, but I want you to know that I'm always here for you, too. That will never change. Just like True North. You'll always know where to find me-where to find home-even if it's not at an intersection of longitude and latitude on a map. Even if it's not somewhere you can reach by following a compass."

They stared at each other for a long moment before Dean finally nodded, the words he really wanted to say escaping him. "We don't have to hug or anything now, do we?"

Sam shook his head, the same serious look still on his face. "God no."

Dean looked down at the compass and back to his baby brother, before cracking a slight smile, "Then…thanks, bitch."

"You're welcome, jerk."

Dean held up the compass. "So, does this thing really work?"

Sam shrugged, stuffing more pancakes in his mouth. "Better than that crap lighter we got Dad."

Dean laughed, picked up his glass of orange juice and held it up in the air. "To Father's Day."

Sam picked up his own glass and clanked it against his brothers. "To Father's Day." The fifteen-year-old watched his older brother one-handedly tear into his own pancakes and grinned. Who needed a Bill Cosby dad, when he had a Dean.

_June 18, 2006_

_Happy Father's Day-Ridley_


End file.
